


The Naked and The Nude

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, They meet under different circumstances, and really hit it off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6435142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Will does Jack a favor and Hannibal owns a beach house.</p>
<p>No horror. No death. Just hello.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naked and The Nude

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if it feels OOC, but I didn't even realize I was going to write this until the scene opened, so there. Enjoy.

Will Graham woke up on a beach just past dawn. His head pounded precisely in his temples, and his stomach swayed with the waves. He heard the buzzing of insects and squinted in the light reflecting off the water. The pale sands were deserted as far around the cove as he could see, except for a house distantly uphill.

The closer he looked, the more bodies he noticed tucked away in the foliage on the dunes. People in tuxedos and suave suits and elegant dresses all ruffled and wrinkled and half-dressed, like they had been drugged in their dressing rooms and taken here. Where was here?

Will rose to his unsteady legs, heaving to and fro like he was young again and experiencing the water for the first time in an aggressive wake. He found his balance, teetering forward with a nasty hunch as he clutched at body parts either sore or numb. Slowly he trudged up the hill.

It came back to him in increments, every face he passed buried in the sand lurching into his memory. Here was a composer, there was a TV producer, several doctors and surgeons, a few lawyers, psychiatrists, a golf pro, an opera star, philanthropists, patrons, wealthy people that ran in the same opulent circles in their leisure. One man snored rhythmically with his head tipped back over the stomach of a woman he had seen on big network news before. Bottles of wine were strewn alongside the bodies. He suspected they were empty, or damn near.

The closer he approached the house, the more it seemed to loom above him like a seaside castle. It was built into the side of a cliff and was the only property on the petite private cove; the front entrance betrayed only a two story house, but once one made their way through to the back, there were three and a half total floors, most with balconies and decks to enjoy the view. A long winding staircase in white picked its way over the lumpy topography before letting out between two grass-topped hills. Will shuffled along, up the stairs, and onto the lowest deck.

He slipped inside, grateful for the partially slatted blinds in the long windows. It was silent, and mostly empty in the room he entered.

He was mistaken.

A man was poised on an intricate barstool, sipping from a plain white mug and reading the newspaper. He had a plate with half eaten triangular toast and a fried egg. A deep vermillion robe draped over his shoulders, fastened at the waist but spreading open over powerful tanned thighs. He was otherwise unadorned, except for maroon slippers.

“Good morning,” the man mumbled, or muttered, or whatever - his accent, while not impossible to understand, was a challenge to comprehend when the man had a low voice to begin with, and it was early. Will doubted he would sound any better, especially considering the night previous.

“Mornin’,” he drawled. His assumption was mostly correct.

“If you would like, I could make you some breakfast.” The studious man said without raising his gaze.

“No, no… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” Will shook his foggy, tight head and leaned toward the coffeemaker. “Where are the mugs?”

“Left cabinet by the sink.” The man replied. He lifted his dark eyes to Will, observing his unsure movements with mild curiosity. “It’s a Vienna roast.” Will hummed in response. “Do you take it black?”

“Usually.” Will confirmed. He poured the dark liquid into the white ceramic mug and breathed deeply through his nose. The man smiled pridefully but didn’t comment.

“You are the first awake, besides myself,” he finally said some time later, once Will ventured onto a stool on the far side of the counter. “I am surprised nobody else has risen with the sun shining like it does.”

“They’ll certainly have interesting tans.” Will chuckled into his mug. “Or burns. I hope you have plenty of aloe.”

“I would not be so sure they will make an appearance and be pressing me for ointments. They always collect what they brought and slink away in shame.”

“Always? How often does this happen?”

“While not frequent, it is not a new occurrence around here. People like the privacy of a private beach.” The man gave a polite smirk and rose to wash his crumby plate and empty mug. “Feeling hungry yet?”

Will groaned. “I feel like if I eat anything it’ll make a swift and alarming reappearance on your counter.” He slid his palm over the smooth, cool surface, tempted to lie his head upon it. “That would only give you a reason not to invite me back.” Will was surprised by his own daring, but just stared out the slitted windows. “And it’s such a beautiful view.”

The man hummed, peering out as well. After a moment’s blissful silence, he spun around, affording Will a healthy look at his abdomen and all its furry glory. He glanced bashfully away, and the man snickered.

“What?” Will wondered, eyes dancing on the edge of his host’s face but not daring to meet his gaze.

“Is it nakedness that you fear, or nudity that intimidates you?” His lips curled impishly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you afraid of glimpsing the private or catching the proud, Mr. Graham?” The man tugged his robe shut, hiding away beneath it.

“What do you mean? I didn’t see anything, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re fine.” His gaze cut to the side toward the large gleaming fridge.

“That is not what I’m asking.” His mouth settled into a delighted but minute grin and he splayed his hands on the counter before him. “If I told you I wanted to be seen, would that make you uncomfortable?”

Will frowned and swallowed as an afterthought. “That would depend on the circumstances.”

“Right now, for instance. If I took off this robe, would you find it disgraceful or would you admire my confidence?”

“Am I a willing participant in this scenario?” Will laughed nervously. “Or are you just stripping to get a reaction.”

“If I had been planning to do it, I will have lost the element of surprise. This is all hypothetical.” The man’s fingers strummed quietly.

“A man in his own home can do as he pleases, damn what I may think.” He sipped his coffee for something to do, but he calculated if he did so every time he spoke, he would run out in three more sentences. Will subtly placed his mug that much farther from himself.

“But a man in his own home must consider the opinion of his company.”

Will chuckled again, a little more relaxed. “You are a gracious host.”

“And you indulge me. Thank you, Will.”

Will was tempted to say ‘any time’, but he suspected that would be committing to something he wasn’t entirely positive he could handle. Instead he asked, “Why compare being naked and nude?”

It was the man’s turn to laugh lightly, like a pleasant raspy bark. “People have differentiated nakedness from nudity by claiming one is involuntary and causes embarrassment while the other is a willing and confident action. Most art depicts nudity because so many artists, if not proud of their personal ability, take pride in creation. Donatello’s David and Michelangelo’s David are both nude; their gazes are strong and both use contrapposto to display physical ease and control.”

“So being nude is being in control?” Will hazarded.

“That is what some choose to believe.”

“What do you believe?” He pried.

“One may use their body for control, but does that not reveal weakness in other areas?”

Will nodded into his coffee. “What are they trying to control in the first place?”

The man leveled a look at Will. “What does anybody want to control?”

Will didn’t reply. 

Instead he sipped his coffee and sat through the filtering in of guests worse for wear as they tracked down their jackets and purses and shoes and keys. It was a slow and deliberate trickle to avoid too much traffic and too much contact with each other. When they inevitably saw each other again, it would be all smiles and all class and nobody would reference this night they lost control at Hannibal Lecter’s.

When the last news anchor shuffled his way out the door and Hannibal slid it shut in his wake, Will sighed.

“What do you get from this?” He asked. “All this pomp and circumstance, all the socializing and schmoozing, what do you stand to gain from it? And don’t answer me with another question, that doesn’t resolve anything.”

Hannibal laughed softly, letting the belt drop loose and his robe fall open. He strode back into the kitchen like a tiger, robust and serene, and assorted all the empty wine bottles he had collected from his guests. He was not concerned by the spectacle of his body; he lived in his skin every day and had grown used to the sight, was at ease with what he owned. 

It was all brand new to Will and he felt himself blanche. He had really done it. Will felt silly for being so shocked, but eventually his host’s confidence soothed and reassured him, and soon he was at a fraction of the other man’s indifference.

“Everybody likes to control the realm of their own life. It’s an added benefit to be able to manipulate another’s. I earn the trust of my peers, and they give me the reins for a while. Simple.”

“Basic.” Will marvelled. “Do you always have the upper hand?”

“If I do not start there, I will always get there.” His smile was devilish. “That lends more to personality.”

Even if their conversation lulled, Will did not feel the urge to depart. He sat through Hannibal’s cleaning process and lent a hand himself until they were both back in the kitchen making sandwiches with what could only be described as expensive, high-end ingredients - not that he would have expected any less. They ate in a companionable silence next to each other on the stools at the counter. Without thinking, Will cast a glance over his shoulder and looked directly into the other man’s eyes. He stared emotionlessly, blankly, unreadable past his bored mask, until his hungry eyes drifted down to Will’s mouth. He reached out and wiped away stray mustard or something, or maybe there was nothing, but he presented himself with an excuse to run the pad of his thumb over the bottom of Will’s lip. 

Will’s gentle inhale was involuntary, but it was too late. The damage was done. Before he knew what hit him, they were scrambling up the stairs while simultaneously tearing at each other, lips locking and pushing and hands roaming with abandon where the robe had slipped away and Will’s shirt and slacks just disappeared.

Honestly, in a giant empty house inhabited by no one but the two of them, he figured anywhere would have sufficed, but his host seemed adamant about the bedroom. Then his thick brain connected the dots - the other man made a show of strutting up to his nightstand, ripping into a condom, and generously spreading lube over himself and onto (and into) Will (though not nearly as sequential as that. There was a lot of other fooling around going on).

After a long and strenuous fuck, two men lay panting in messy steel gray sheets. They didn’t touch, but not for a lack of intimacy. Will felt like his skin was on fire. He was relieved when his sweat began to cool where it had collected over his skin. Soon enough, their breathing evened out, and Will was very near to sleep without actually toppling over the precipice, and his eyes saw only gray pillowcase.

“There is power in a name.” Hannibal’s voice sliced into the cotton-eared silence. “Every step of the way I thought I had power over you, yet you pressed this far without once acknowledging mine.”

WIll burrowed his forehead into the pillow, smiling coyly. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“That would be nice.”

“I don’t remember it. I came as a favor for the director, but I never actually learned your name. He must have said it, but I was probably distracted. I’ve made it this far without it, I was too embarrassed to ask.”

“Ah. The naked truth.”

“Indeed.” Will tucked his face away again. Hannibal chuckled, but the infection of it spread and soon he was laughing heartily, jostling the bed and catching Will up in the joy of it. They spent minutes just guffawing at each other before Hannibal caught Will’s lips and held him there, happy in his soul with this curious stranger he had to admit he barely knew. Crawford had apologized for his prior engagement and promised a good kid by the name of Will Graham to appear in his stead. He would have never guessed the “good kid” would be so enthralling.

Will hummed and pulled back with a loud wet sound that made him blush and mutter “I’m sorry” as he rolled onto his back and sat up. He stretched his arms up and pulled his body taut over his muscles and ribs. He ruffled his hair. He blinked coquettishly with a half grin. “So you know my name.”

“Will Graham,” he confirmed, leaning on his elbows and peering up at the man happily.

“What’s yours?”

“Hannibal Lecter.” Hannibal blinked with leisure, watching Will’s face transform.

“Oh.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Well, it’s no John or Richard.”

“Certainly no William.” Hannibal smirked. Will beamed too. “I was born and raised in Lithuania.”

“Hence the accent. I’m from Louisiana.”

“Hence the accent.”

“What accent? I spent years purging that thing from my speech.”

Hannibal nodded. “When you first came in this morning and I greeted you, your reply was not as indistinguishably Midwestern as you might have hoped.”

“Remind me never to talk when I’m tired. I also say the damnedest things.”

“I would not mind hearing them.” Hannibal purred. Will sidled up to him and curled into his body.

“I’ll take a quick nap and make my way home. I didn’t realize I’d be spending the day here; I thought it was just a nighttime commitment.”

“I hope I have not ruined any plans.”

“Nothing important. I’ve got somebody sitting my dogs, although they might have left by now.” He blushed guiltily. “I’m not even sure what time it is.”

“After three.” Hannibal informed him.

He sipped air through his teeth. “Yeah. Maybe I should skip the nap.”

“Would you like to take a shower before you leave?”

“I’ll skip that, too. I don’t know how long it’s been since the dogs went outside, and it’s over an hour’s drive from here.” Will rolled off the bed and tugged on his slacks, hurriedly buttoning his shirt and tracking his shoes to the hallway. Hannibal followed, slinking into his red robe and striding in Will’s wake sans haste. They made it all the way to the front door where Will shrugged his jacket on and rediscovered his phone before Hannibal made a sound.

Will stood motionless in front of the door with Hannibal not a foot away from him.

He peered at his face, but only around his eyes, not into them. “Your party was wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

“It was really great meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

“You make thrilling conversation.”

“As do you.”

“You are a fantastic fuck.” Will spluttered suddenly. “And I would really enjoy seeing you again.”

“I feel the same.”

“Great! Do you have my number?”

“Regretfully I do not, but I can remedy that if you’ll let me borrow your phone.”

Will indulged him and watched as he typed his number in and saved the contact. Then he sent a text, and distantly a phone chimed with three delicate notes. Will beamed broadly. “Good.”

“Goodbye, Will.” Hannibal said, gesturing toward the knob to allow the man his freedom. Instead, Will leapt toward him and kissed him deeply, which he sank into gratefully and with much relish.

They released each other gradually and parted without incident. Will climbed into his car and drove away and Hannibal receded into his house, a pleasant grin playing on each man’s lips knowing the night had been successful in many more ways than one.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly whenever I try to write fic I never get very far - it's the same with all my writing; I get caught up and have to write the longest, most detailed thing ever. But here it took me two evenings of just sitting down listening to waves (11 hours of beach sound on YouTube, but not all 11 hours were used) to slap it down. I hope this signifies a change for the better. Let me know what you think of my first. Love, 3Gods.


End file.
